


Cosmic Fate

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:51:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4998484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Konoha Akinori's started to get the feeling that if you look at Bokuto's stupidity from a slightly different angle it's actually kinda genius and that pisses him off.</p><p>And the day after Training Camp's finished, he's even more convinced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cosmic Fate

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Megan (museicalitea) for her birthday because she is an amazing writer, an incredibly supportive friend, and a fan of all things Fukurodani.

“HOLY CRAP!”

The force of the ball as it landed on the side of his head, sent ricochets down his spine. It wasn’t just the shock of it that caused Akinori to yell, but the very real pain when his neck became the buttress for Bokuto’s serve. A serve that was fast, powerful, and could rip through the strongest receiver. A serve that when out of control, hurt like hell.

“DAMMIT! SORRY ABOUT THAT!” Bokuto shouted, his face in his hands.

Akinori knew he was sorry, knew he hadn’t meant to hurt him like that, but hearing the apology didn’t stop the pain, or the feeling that his head was hanging on to his body by the merest thread. And it also didn’t help that he knew the apology wasn’t wholly aimed at him, but to the team.

The Ace was about to implode, so it was time to regroup, to play their other game as a team, and bar a few sympathetic looks (and a chuckle from Komi) Akinori knew he had to get on with it and not ask for an ice pack.

But Shitting Fucking Hell it hurt. Gritting his teeth, he stood by the net and focused on Karasuno’s bald guy. It was his serve, not a particularly strong one, from what Akinori could remember. So the points were salvageable and perhaps Bokuto’s implosion would be averted.

Except Bokuto fucked up, missing twice, and his rapid descent into Dejected Mode began.

It was so familiar now, that they barely needed to think about it. Only Bokuto seemed surprised, the others so used to the ups and downs of their ace, that they slipped easily into a new pattern, Akaashi utilising all the Wing Spikers and not just the one.

And after, when they’d won – with Bokuto’s final spike – and the plaudits had been laid at his feet, Fukurodani retired to the changing room, relieved and pleased it was over.

“Well, that was close,” Yamato joked, his lips curving into a smile even curlier than usual. “Didn’t think those Crows had it in them.”

“It’s the little guy,” Bokuto declared. “He’s got guts and bounce.”

“It’s all of them,” Akaashi observed quietly. “They’re working as a team, but haven’t quite worked out their places yet.” He paused to take off his shirt. “When they do, they’ll be formidable.”

“Ah, we can take ‘em,” roared Bokuto, and now his grin was so wide, it spread right across his face.

Akinori tried to smile back. He wanted to because victory, especially when it was a close call, sent him giddy with laughter. But as he beamed, the pain in his cheek reverberated down his neck and he yelped.

“I’m so sorry.” Bokuto wasn’t yelling now. His voice was husky, humble, even, and genuine. He’d watched, seen Akinori raise his hand to his smarting face, and known he was the reason.

“It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean it,” Akinori said, a touch irritably, because it was bad enough when Bokuto was dejected on court, but when they were relaxing and having fun, adrenaline  leaving their systems, his moods had the capacity to bring them all down .

“It’s like... uh ... I didn’t want to do it, you know.”

“Sure, sure. Why would you?”

Bokuto wasn’t paying attention, instead staring at Akinori with an almost feverish expression in his eyes. “It’s like, it’s the one place I know I gotta miss. But I’m drawn to it.”

“What?”

“Your head,” Bokuto whispered, his eyes wide. “It’s kinda cosmic fate, or something. Like... I know I mustn’t aim at you, and I make all this effort, but the more I try to miss, the more I’m likely to hit.” He screwed up his brow, frowning at no one in particular. “Why does it do that?”

“No idea,” Akinori muttered, stepping away, suddenly wary because Bokuto seemed to be trying to puzzle things out.

“Maybe it’s the hair,” Komi suggested, attempting to sound serious, but Akinori could hear the smothered chuckle at the back of his throat.

“Hey... it could be,” Bokuto breathed. “You’re so blond; it’s like shining at me.”

“He could wear a hat next time,” Yamato suggested innocently. “Or your bike helmet.”

“Sarukui-san,” Akaashi’s voice, quiet but authoritative, “please do not give the Captain any ideas. He’ll have us all wearing them.”

“With wings on, too,” Komi agreed. “Hoot hoot!”

“Hey, not a bad idea...” Bokuto’s voice trailed off, but his eyes were alight with the possibilities.

And although Akinori knew it would come to nothing, he was grateful their captain had been distracted and was no longer blaming himself or coming up with daft theories for his carelessness.

***

It was when he was biking home the day after Training Camp had finished, that the accident occurred. He was laden down with his kitbag on his back, which wasn’t ideal, admittedly, but that was a normal occurrence for Akinori as he biked to and from school every day during term time. He was also following his usual route home, biking across the expressway, before turning up a small side street, then down the sloping track that lead to his house on the outskirts of Tokyo.

And there, on the side of the path was a paint pot. He had no idea why it was there; he supposed one of the neighbours was decorating and had dropped it. And obviously, it shouldn’t be there, but the path wasn’t too narrow, it wasn’t obstructing him in anyway.

At all.

But then a curious thing happened. As the sun glinted on the shiny can lid, he screwed up his eyes and tried to focus on the track ahead. Yet, the stronger his intention to race for home, the more some odd instinct kicked in and he could feel his hands moving, steering the handlebars in the very opposite direction he wanted to go.

Straight towards the paint pot.

“Nooooo!” he yelled, and scrabbled for the brake. But just then, just before he hit the can, the front wheel scuffed against a stone, leaving the back wheel rotating against the dusty road. He careened over his handlebars, flying far higher than the Chibi-chan Bokuto had been so excited about, and landed with a thud on the track.

“Holy CRAP!” he yelled, for the second time in two days.

Gingerly getting to his feet, he winced as he dusted himself down. Yet apart from a graze on his elbow, he was intact, the most severe damage had been sustained by the bike’s front wheel, now twisted beyond riding.

With a snort, he kicked the empty paint point into touch under a bush, and started to wheel his bike home. _Funny how it had happened_ , he thought. _The very thing I wanted to avoid and ... wham!_

He began to laugh. “Cosmic Fate, eh? Bokuto, you might just be onto something.”


End file.
